Kittens and Quaffles
by whutnot
Summary: Cats and birds aren't supposed to get along, but somehow they manage anyway. Moments in the relationship between Minerva Mcgonagall and Rolanda Hooch.
1. Favoritism

I've recently become quite invested in the idea of a demisexual McGonagall in a relationship with Hooch. This is an exercise in exploring that. I don't know yet how many of these I will do, but each chapter will be able to stand on its own, though I hope they will all flow together.

* * *

Minerva distinctly remembers the beginning of the term, when she had proudly boasted about Harry Potter being sorted into her house. Rolanda had replied at the time that he simply didn't have the brains for Ravenclaw, but Minerva could tell that she was slightly jealous. She thinks back on that, and glowers as Rolanda laughs at her story (Rolanda isn't even angry that Minerva has woken her at nearly two in the morning to complain about students out of bed).

"It's not funny," she barks, arms crossed over her chest. "They were completely reckless! Absolutely no regard for the rules!"

"What did you expect?" Rolanda gasps as she tries to catch her breath. "He's James Potter's son. Of course he's going to get up to trouble." She's shaking with laughter, and Minerva's frown deepens. "Oh, I remember how pleased you were at his sorting. What was it you said to me? '_It's a pity there had to be a choice, but _obviously_ it would be Gryffindor.'_ Merlin, you were so smug, and look at you now. The boy is losing house points left and right! At this rate, you'll be in the negative by the end of term."

"Well, if Severus had any kind of fairness-"

"_Severus_? Minerva, please. You were the one who lobbied to let a first year play on the house team," Rolanda reminds her. "I was all ready to give him a month of detention, but you go and appoint him Gryffindor seeker and buy him the best broom on the market. Snape isn't the only Head of House who participates in favoritism." Rolanda's eyes sparkle as she says this, but the words strike something very uncomfortable inside Minerva.

"That's completely diff—Albus agreed with me that the rules could be bent," she snaps. She's always prided herself on being impartial. She thinks the events of the evening prove it. One-hundred-and-fifty points from her own house. They will most certainly lose the house cup because of it, but she has her integrity to think of. She's no Severus Snape, thank Merlin.

"Different because it was quidditch?" Rolanda asks knowingly, and Minerva hates that she's right.

"It's been five years since we won!" Minerva snaps. "Last year's season was atrocious, I've never been more humiliated."

"Hearing you talk, one would think you're out there on the pitch, not a bunch of teenagers."

"It's the principle of the thing," Minerva sniffs. "House rivalries."

"And how long have you been holding this grudge?"

"You know very well."

"I don't know if you've realized, but the parents of most of these children weren't even at Hogwarts when you lost the cup-"

"I didn't lose it! It was stolen from us! It was a bloody foul, completely unsportsman like—" She breaks off to take a deep breath. "Jo King had it out for me, and they targeted me specifically. Disgusting."

"So good to know that you're the forgiving type."

"Sod off, Ro," she barks, pushing herself off the couch. She intends to go back to her own quarters, but Rolanda catches her arm.

"Min, come on. Don't go." Rolanda tries to pull her back in for a hug, but Minerva stands stiffly. "You were complaining about Potter and Granger. Not quidditch. I shouldn't have brought it up. I know it's a sore subject for you."

"I shouldn't have snapped," Minerva mumbles, because Rolanda is not wrong and because Albus is always telling her she can be harsh at times and that perhaps she could manage a bit more softness. She's not so sure. It always makes her feel weird, like someone else is speaking through her mouth. Empathy, she has plenty of. But the ability to express it? Not as much. "I just really thought…I had thought Potter wouldn't be quite so…troublesome. And Miss Granger! I never—how unlike her to break the rules in such a way!"

"Unlike her? Isn't this the same girl who thought she could take on a mountain troll on her own?"

"Well, yes, but that was less defiance and more overconfidence in her own abilities," Minerva says. She feels the need to defend Hermione Granger, who reminds her so much of herself at that age. "But tricking Draco Malfoy into getting in trouble? Leading him to believe that they had a _dragon_? I would never have guessed it of her. The whole situation has me questioning my own judgment."

"Oh, Min, that's ridiculous." Rolanda touches her cheek very briefly. She knows Minerva isn't comfortable with affection, and she is always mindful of that, but sometimes she feels the need to remind her partner that she's not alone in all this. "Your judgment is just fine. Better than most peoples', I'm sure. Why, you have a reputation of being the fastest amongst the staff at spotting trouble. The students all know they can't pull any fast ones on you."

"If I think for one moment, Rolanda Hooch, that you are patronizing me—"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Rolanda smiles at her and steps up on her toes to place a quick kiss to Minerva's lips. It's almost platonic, it's so chaste. Almost. "Why don't you stay here tonight?"

"Ro, I'm really not in the mood for—"

"I know that, Minerva." Rolanda's voice turns just a tad brittle, but she quickly recovers her brightness. "I haven't been with you for four years without knowing when you are and aren't in the mood."

Had she not already been irritated and frustrated by her students' misbehavior, Minerva would have remembered that on her own. She knows that she isn't nearly as interested in a physical relationship as most people seem to be, and she's always aware that Rolanda would very much like more intimacy between them. But she respects what Minerva can give. Instead, she seeks her physical needs elsewhere. Minerva doesn't ask who, and Rolanda doesn't share. They talked of it several times in the beginning, when they were figuring out how this would all work, and Minerva gave her encouragement. She wants Rolanda to feel fulfilled, and she always worries that she's not giving enough. But Rolanda never complains. Never pushes for more, and never makes Minerva feel guilty, whether inadvertently or purposefully.

And it is true that Rolanda is always very much in tune with what Minerva is comfortable with at any given time.

"I'm sorry, Ro," she says, sighing heavily. "I keep snapping at you, and you're not even the one I'm angry at."

"Stay tonight, love."

She knows that Rolanda Hooch is irrevocably in love with her. She doesn't know if she feels the same, if she even can feel the same (she's never loved anyone like that, not even Dougal and certainly not Elphinstone), but she does think that what she feels for Rolanda is as close to that as she can manage. Their arrangement is untraditional, but it seems to work well enough for them both. And Minerva finds that she quite likes having a….well, a whatever Rolanda is to her. Platonic life partner, Pomona jokes. But it is more than that, Minerva knows. It's basically what she's always wanted.

Rolanda is still waiting for her answer, and she smiles, relaxing.

"All right."


	2. Firebolts

I thought about doing these in chronological order, but instead they're just going to be random.

* * *

Rolanda shows up first, breathless, and Minerva wonders if she's sprinted all the way from the quidditch pitch. Her eyes are alight as they sweep over the broom on Minerva's desk.

"Merlin's balls," she whispers, a delighted grin breaking across her face.

"Goodness, Rolanda, that language is foul."

"Well, it's not every day that I get up close and personal with a Firebolt," Rolanda reaches out to touch the broom, then thinks better of it.

"Go ahead. It's already had hands all over it," Minerva tells her. "I thought I was going to have to stun Weasley to get him to let go of it. He nearly fainted when I told him we'd have to strip it down."

"I think _I'm_ going to faint," Rolanda agrees. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Besides you of course," she amends hurriedly. Minerva rolls her eyes.

"I've sent for Filius, as well. Between the three of us, we should be able to determine if it's safe to return it to Potter."

Rolanda finally tears her eyes away from the broom. "You really think Sirius Black sent it? Where'd he get the money? These things aren't exactly cheap. And how would he have sent it?"

"I don't know," Minerva snaps. "He's a mass murderer and a terribly gifted wizard. However he did it, we have to make sure this broom will not harm Harry Potter." She gazes at the shiny, smooth handle and lets out a sigh. "It _is_ lovely."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and there's nothing wrong with it," Rolanda suggests hopefully. She glances sidelong at Minerva. "Maybe we can get this done in time for their next match?"

"That would be ideal."

"Just out of curiosity, if it does turn out that the broom is bewitched, are you going to buy him a new one?"

"Don't be daft."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

Minerva glares at her. "I bought the Nimbus 2000 because I knew Potter wouldn't know the first thing about ordering a broom. He's lived with muggles his whole life. He knows better now."

"But hypothetically-"

"I would make sure he had a broom for the match," Minerva growls. "Something better than a Cleansweep. His talent would be wasted on one of those."

Rolanda looks amused. "I love you."

"Oh, hush." But Minerva has to look down to hide her pleased smile. She has just enough time to compose herself before Filius comes trotting in.

"I came straight away, Minerva," he squeaked. "Is it really from Sirius Black?"

"We don't know, but I suspect so."

Filius frowns, contemplative. "It just doesn't make sense. Black was in your house for seven years."

"And in your office for half of that time," Rolanda adds.

"Exactly," Filius says, nodding. "He knows that you would never just let Potter have a broom sent to him without any kind of note. He would have to know that we would go over it."

"Perhaps he thought it was worth a try," Minerva says, irked by the thought of Sirius Black knowing her. It sends her stomach into tight, uncomfortable knots. She had thought _she_ knew _him_. Had thought—she breaks off her train of thought angrily. Her displeasure must have shown on her face because Rolanda knocks her shoulder gently, her eyes filled with concern.

"Minerva?"

"It's nothing. I'm fine. Let's just get on with it," she says, trying to sound brisk. "It doesn't matter why he sent it, or how, or even if he sent it. All that matters is that we make sure it's safe."

They start with the more common jinxes, and work for a couple of hours before they call it a night. She and Filius still have papers to grade, and it is already late. They plan to continue the next day.

Without being asked, Rolanda follows Minerva back to her quarters, slipping inside after her. When they're behind the closed door, Rolanda rounds on her, brows raised expectantly.

"All right, what was that back there?"

"I don't know what you're—"

"Minerva."

The silence stretches out between them before Minerva looks away and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Sirius Black was estranged from his family long before he ran away from home at sixteen," she says. "How could he not be? A Black sorted into Gryffindor? He attached himself to James Potter and Remus Lupin rather quickly, but I…well I felt that it was my responsibility as Head of House to keep an eye on him. Make sure he was…all right. He was in my office more than James. And not just when he was in trouble. He needed…He needed someone…Anyway." She takes a deep breath, and Rolanda just waits for her to think through what she wanted to say. "I knew him from the time he was eleven years old. From the time he was eleven to when he was twenty. Twenty years old and then he betrays his best friend. He betrayed James and Lily, left them to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Let them be murdered. And then he goes and just…just annihilates Peter Pettigrew and a dozen muggles.

"I spent seven years as his teacher, and three as…well I thought as a friend. I thought I knew him." She swallows hard. "I thought I knew him." Minerva draws her hand across her cheek, picking up tears that have fallen. "To know that…that the boy I knew grew up into…into a murderer." Rolanda's arms are around her as her shoulders hunch and she feels a sob tear through her. "And now… now he's after Harry. And I just…I've watched so many of them die. So many of my students. I've watched them kill each other. I've fought them, and fought _for_ them. I just…" Minerva rests her head on Rolanda's shoulder. "I got into teaching because I wanted to help…help mold young minds. And to, I don't know, I suppose I had this noble idea that I could change people. Make them better, kinder. Make the world better. But I can't, Ro. I can't make any difference at all. They just keep hurting each other. It was never supposed to hurt like this."

Rolanda gently cradles Minerva's face, lifting her chin so that they may look at each other. There is no pity in her eyes, as Minerva feared. Only understanding. "You know that's not true. You know that you make a difference. There will always be bad people in the world. We just have the misfortune of watching them be created. But we also get to see people like James and Lily Potter come into their own. We get to see boys like Remus Lupin reconnect with the child of his best friend. We get to see the children of our students grow and learn. It does hurt sometimes. More than is fair. But it only hurts sometimes. Not all the time."

"No, not all the time," Minerva agrees, and she wants to kiss Rolanda, which is not something that happens terribly often, so she leans in and does it. Rolanda is soft and gentle with her, knowing that this is not going to gear up to sex. Minerva is feeling much too fragile for that. "I love you, Ro," she whispers.

And Rolanda knows that. She knows that Minerva doesn't do relationships like most people. She knows that Minerva doesn't do that passionate type of romantic love that gets sonnets written about it. She knows that Minerva is never going to marry her, would never want to marry anyone again. She knows that Minerva is not going to love her the way that people like Molly and Arthur Weasley love each other.

But she also knows that's not the only kind of meaningful love. She knows that what Minerva does feel for her is just as deep and true, even if it's not passionate. Minerva has made sure that she knows that. Because she does love Rolanda. Very much. And it doesn't matter that most people don't understand the fact that she's never craved the romance or sex that society has deemed necessary for a 'healthy' relationship.

So she kisses Rolanda again. And then again. And she feels Rolanda smile against her lips, and she feels a hand on her neck, and another pressing into the small of her back.

Rolanda is the first to pull away, and she searches Minerva's eyes, her brows furrowed slightly in concern. "Am I right in guessing that's all you want right now? Nothing further?"

"Yes." She almost says she's sorry, but Rolanda doesn't like that. She always insists that Minerva should never be sorry for who she is and what she does or does not want. But she's only been with Rolanda for six years. It sounds like a long time, but it is not yet enough time to overcome the forty-something years she spent thinking that her lack of interest in romance and sex _was_ something she needed to apologize for.

"Should I go?" Rolanda asks. "I know you still probably have mountains of homework to grade, and I don't want to keep you from that."

Minerva shakes her head. "Stay. Please. I could use the company. My fourth years are utterly hopeless. I don't know how long I'll be able to stand their attempts at cleverness before I'll need actual intelligent conversation."

Rolanda kisses her again, just once, and just briefly. "Have I ever mentioned how glad I am that I don't have to grade papers?"

Minerva scowls. "Yes. Often. You're a terrible Ravenclaw."

"No. I was just smart enough to make sure I avoided grading. It was very clever." She grins, and Minerva rolls her eyes. "You keep doing that and your eyes are going to fall right out of your head."

"I think I'll risk it."

"Somehow I thought you'd say that. You're very predictable. You should work on that."

"I've changed my mind. Go away." Minerva turns on her heel to walk away from Rolanda, who just laughs.

"Just let me go find something to occupy myself with, and I'll be back." She leaves, but she won't be long, Minerva knows. Just long enough to grab the latest issue of Quidditch Weekly. She'll read while Minerva grades. And perhaps they'll have a cup of tea. It's a school night, so no whisky. Minerva thinks that she'll ask Rolanda to stay the night.

She'll deny it to her grave, but sometimes she just wants….cuddles.

Even thinking the word causes Minerva to grimace, but it's true. She is very much in the mood to be held. She lets herself smile, though, because she knows Rolanda will never tease her for it.

No, it's not bad all the time.

Most of the time, it's actually pretty good.


	3. Fair

There's mention of sex in this one.

* * *

"And then she tells me that she'll give me my results in ten days' time." Minerva violently strips off her outer robes, flinging them to the corner of the room. The rest of her outfit soon follows and she stands in the middle of her bedroom in just her underwear, hands on her hips, looking at Rolanda expectantly. "Well, are we going to do this, or what?"

Rolanda starts, eyes wide. "Sorry, what?"

"Are we going to…" Minerva flaps her hand between them, indicating her nearly naked body.

"You mean have sex?"

"Yes, that."

Rolanda does her very very best not to laugh, because she knows that it will hurt Minerva, but the fact that a grown woman has trouble saying the word 'sex' is enough to have Rolanda biting her lip to keep her composure.

"Are you sure?" Rolanda always asks, because she always worries that Minerva agrees to sex just to please her and not because Minerva wants it. She especially wants to make sure of this when Minerva is exceptionally emotional or upset.

"Yes. I'm sure." And Minerva looks down at Rolanda, her chest heaving. "I want it."

Not wasting any time, Rolanda strips as well. "You're not just doing this because you're angry and need to blow off steam?"

"That's exactly why I'm doing this," Minerva says, and she watches Rolanda with clear need in her eyes. It's not something that Rolanda is accustomed to seeing there, and it sends a shiver down her back. "But that doesn't mean I don't want it. And that doesn't mean I'm going to regret it later. I know that's what you're thinking. I want it. I want _you_. Now."

"Yes, professor," Rolanda says. She lets Minerva take the lead, lets her set the pace. It's good, really good, as it always is with Minerva (Rolanda has other partners for sex, and she's usually satisfied, but there's something about Minerva that's just…._more_. Probably because she's something of a perfectionist combined with the fact that Rolanda is head over heels for her).

When they're finished, Minerva is much more relaxed and lets Rolanda talk her into staying in bed ('But I have papers to grade-' 'And they'll still be there tomorrow.').

Minerva's breathing has evened out, and Rolanda thinks that she's fallen asleep. In an act of tender affection that she would almost never attempt if Minerva was awake, she trails her hand down the strong planes of Minerva's bare back.

"I don't want to go again," Minerva mumbles, clearly only _half_ asleep.

"I know, love." Rolanda decides to press her luck and leans over to kiss Minerva's shoulder. Minerva sighs and settles in deeper against the pillows. "I just want…I just want to touch you." It is so rare that Minerva is free and open with their physical relationship, and Rolanda wants to capitalize on that for as long as she can.

With furrowed brows, Minerva turns to look at Rolanda. "Come here." She shifts onto her side so that they are facing each other and allows Rolanda to hold her. She turns her face into Rolanda's neck and places her hand over the other woman's heart. "I forget sometimes that you like this," she says. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, Min." Rolanda kisses the top of her head before pressing her nose to Minerva's hair. "How many times do I have to tell you that you've got nothing to be sorry for?"

Minerva sighs again, her warm breath rolling across Rolanda's skin. "Everything is always on my terms. It's not…it's not fair to you."

"Minerva—"

"No, Ro, it's…I just…." She runs a hand over her face. "It makes me feel so selfish."

"Merlin's pants, Minerva. You have got to be the least selfish person I know." They do this from time to time. Less and less as the years go by, but it still happens. Times where Minerva manages to convince herself that she's not giving enough. It seems to be an integral part of her personality. Not believing she's doing enough for the people she cares about. And since Umbridge has been around…well, it's just gotten worse.

"But I'm always the one who doesn't…who doesn't want to…and you're always so patient..."

"Stop that. I love you." Rolanda says it firmly and fiercely. "I love everything about you. Except maybe your taste in music, but we can't all be perfect." This earns her a weak laugh from Minerva, and she feels emboldened. "I knew when we started this that you wouldn't want the same type of relationship I was used to. You're not being selfish. You're just….you're being who you are. And if I asked for more, then _I_ would be the selfish one. If I ever made you feel pressured into sex…" Rolanda shudders. "I would never forgive myself."

"I want you to be happy," Minerva continues, and Rolanda hates when she's like this. So unsure and unlike her usual self. It's Umbridge's fault. They haven't had this conversation in over a year, but now…. now Rolanda wants very much to punch Dolores Umbridge in the face. Repeatedly. That would probably make Minerva smile.

"I am happy. I mean I'd be happier if we weren't all getting evaluated by Professor Toadstool, but as far as this is concerned? Us? I couldn't be happier." It's not a lie. She's only ever wanted what Minerva is comfortable with giving. "I'm happy. All right?"

"All right." Minerva nods, her usual crispness returning, Rolanda relaxes. "Well, I'm awake now, so I might as well get a head start on grading—"

"Oh no you don't!" Rolanda tightens her hold as Minerva tries to get up, grinning as Minerva yelps in protest. "You're going to stay here and relax."

"Rolanda Hoch, unhand me this instant!"

"Nope. Not until you agree to leave those essays alone until the morning." She's going to be adamant on this point. Minerva has been working herself into the ground (but then what else is new?), and she's never going to give herself a break unless someone else makes her.

"Just let me do half of them."

"No."

"Fine, then. Just—"

"No, not a quarter of them, either." Rolanda holds firm. She puts on her best Scottish accent, "Och! Yer aff yer heid, Ro! I've got so much work to do! I cannae have ya havering to me!"

"You're a bloody riot," Minerva drawls. "When is the last time you ever heard me say any of that?"

"I know it's in you," Rolanda insists. "I'm pretty sure I've heard you say 'get tae fuck' to Peeves when the students aren't around."

"I'm about to say it to you." Minerva glares, but it lacks a certain hostility that tells Rolanda that the other woman will soon relent.

"Promise to relax tonight."

Minerva sighs dramatically, her entire body sagging back against Rolanda. "Fine. I promise."

"I'll make you tea," Rolanda says. She gives Minerva a peck on the cheek before hopping up to get start the tea. She could have just called a house elf for it, but she likes making it herself.

"Potter went and landed himself in detention. Again." She looks over her shoulder to see Minerva lying on her back, a hand over her face. "And I lectured him on his temper."

"And then lost your own in your evaluation?"

"I wouldn't say that I _lost_ my temper," Minerva argues. "I never actually yelled at her. I just might have…snipped a little."

Rolanda laughed, imagining exactly what Minerva 'snipping' at Umbridge would entail. "I'll have to ask Potter to tell me all about it."

"I do believe he was rather impressed." Minerva tries to sound casual, but Rolanda can hear the pride in her voice.

"I'm sure." She pours two cups of tea, putting generous amounts of milk and sugar in her own while leaving Minerva's untouched. After she hands Minerva her tea, she eases back onto the bed, pleased that her bedmate has not drawn up the sheets to cover herself. Minerva is quickly approaching sixty, but she lives an active and healthy life and is in considerably good shape for her age. And Rolanda thinks she's probably the most beautiful person in the world. She might be biased, though. She knows Minerva is not what people consider classically beautiful. Her features are sharp, and could even be considered severe. Especially when she's frowning. Which she does quite a lot. But Rolanda thinks she's perfect.

"I want them to know that I'm on their side," Minerva says, pushing her hair back out of her face (Rolanda had pulled it free of its bun earlier). "It's such a hard line to walk. I have to keep discipline and make sure that they understand they can't act out and get themselves in trouble. Not with _her_. But when I try to do that, I end up making them hate me."

"I highly doubt that Harry Potter hates you."

"He certainly wasn't pleased that I made him serve his detention with her."

"Of course not. No one wants detention."

"I think he was under the impression that I might go easy on him because it conflicted with quidditch," she says loftily, refusing to look at Rolanda.

"_No_, really? I do wonder where he got that impression." She grins at the flush that spreads across Minerva's cheeks. "It's not like you've ever given him any reason to think that quidditch is important to you or anything. Not like you may have bent some rules for him because of it before. Not like—"

"You've made your point perfectly clear." Minerva takes a sip of her tea. "I admit, I did want to let him off. But I thought…Well, I didn't want her to think there was any possibility that I favor him. Or any of them. I fear that would make them targets. And Potter already has enough to deal with."

"I get that, Min, but I think Potter would probably appreciate knowing you're in his corner on this."

"You're probably right."

"What was that?" Rolanda cupped a hand around her ear. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Don't push your luck." But Minerva nestles down into the bed, leaning into Rolanda. There are times when she seems to fully embody her animagus form. She curls up against Rolanda, almost as though she will start purring at any moment.

"The students know you're there for them, Min," Rolanda tells her, because she knows Minerva is still worrying about it even as she tries to pretend she's not. "They know." She lets her fingers thread themselves in Minerva's hair. "On the bright side, Umbridge will be gone by the end of the year."

"How do you figure?"

"The position is cursed. You know that."

Minerva doesn't believe in chance or destiny or anything that she can't quantify, but she raises her brows and hums in agreement. "There is that."

"If we're lucky, she'll go the way Lockheart did. That would be amusing."

"Maybe she'll die," Minerva says blackly, startling Rolanda. Sure Minerva hates Umbridge, but it's highly unlike her to wish death on someone.

"Well, that's a bit harsh."

"I think…I think she's hurting them, Ro. The children." Minerva stares intently at her tea. "I can't prove anything, and Albus…Well, his hands are tied until there's hard evidence. The way they react to detention with her….it's not just that they don't want to go. They're…they're scared to go. And they keep…evading my questions when I try to ask them about it. They don't trust me-"

"They do trust you, Min. They don't trust _her_. If she is hurting them, they know you'll go ballistic." Rolanda sets her tea on the side table so that she can cradle Minerva. "They know you'd probably get yourself sacked after you killed her."

"But what if she _is_ hurting them?"

"All you can do right now is keep an eye out," Rolanda says. She hates how helpless she feels, and she knows that Minerva probably feels a hundred times worse. "Just watch them. Watch her. And if you give detentions, make sure they're with you. And let Fred and George Weasley have a looser rein. They don't have jobs to worry about."

"They could get kicked out."

"As if they ever needed a formal education to be successful."

"They are rather brilliant. Don't ever let them know I said that."

Rolanda chuckles. "My lips are sealed."

Minerva drains the last of her tea and leans over Rolanda to set it on the nightstand. She then settles herself half on Rolanda, resting her head on the other woman's chest. "If I do end up killing her, will you go on the run with me?"

"Of course. You'll need someone skilled at flying to help you escape."

"Yes, pretend like I wasn't quidditch captain and couldn't fly circles around you. You know very well I was being courted by the Montrose Magpies my seventh year."

"Yes yes, and you turned them down." She lets the 'fly circles around you' remark go. They both know it's not true. Minerva was a very gifted flyer, but Rolanda was, and still is, exceptional.

"I never could fly quite the same after that fall." Minerva yawns, and Rolanda tries not to seem too pleased at the prospect of her staying the night. "Besides, my heart was always in teaching." Her eyes flutter closed, and Rolanda leans down to press a kiss to her head.

"You should sleep. I'll make sure you wake up obscenely early so that you can start on those papers."

Minerva only nods, and she snuggles—actually snuggles—into Rolanda.

They'll get through this.


	4. Frail

the only relationship between Minerva and Hermione that will ever be okay is that of friendship

* * *

She hesitates outside the hospital ward, pacing as she wavers on her decision. It's not unreasonable, she assures herself, to want to visit a favorite student. It's not…there's no reason why she shouldn't want to check in on Miss Granger. She tries not to think of Rolanda's painfully understanding face as she stuttered out her need to see Hermione. She's never felt so attached to a student before. As Ro likes to remind her, she's never met a miniature of herself. A girl so dedicated to her school work, so bright, so talented, so gifted and brave.

She had promised Hermione's parents that the girl would be safe here.

Gathering all of her legendary Gryffindor courage (she knows it's not a trait unique to her house, but sometimes she needs to think of it as something inherent inside her), she steps into the ward. Poppy is treating a fifth year Hufflepuff who seems to be suffering from overstress. Minerva can hardly blame the poor lad. With exams approaching and all the attacks, it's hardly surprising that some students are cracking under the strain.

"Professor McGonagall," Poppy greets, formal in front of the student. "Something I can help you with?"

"Er…no. I'm just here to…to check on Miss Granger." She resolutely refuses to blush. Poppy just raises her brows.

"All right, though I don't see the point. She can't hear you."

Minerva refrains from snapping, but only because of the fifth year Poppy is helping. She stalks over to Hermione's bed, and sits down in the chair next to her with as much dignity as she can manage. Now that she is here, she's not sure what she thought this would accomplish. She cannot talk with Hermione, and she feels utterly ridiculous as Poppy watches her from across the room. Finally, the Huflepuff leaves, and Poppy walks over to her.

"Pomona tells me the mandrakes will be ready soon," she says softly.

"Yes."

"She'll be all right, Minerva. They all will."

Minerva can only nod, her lips pressed together.

"You want me to fetch Rolanda?"

"Now why would I want that?" Minerva snaps.

"Maybe so that you can bite her head off instead of mine." Poppy glares at her, then sighs. "We're all under a lot of stress. You always seem more relaxed when she's around."

Letting her irritation fade, Minerva glances up at Poppy. "I doubt even she can help with this. Not unless she knows how to stop the Heir of Slytherin."

"Well, have you asked her?"

Minerva rolls her eyes before turning back to Hermione. "Have the others had any visitors?"

"Percy Weasley has been in several times to check on Miss Clearwater, and half of Hufflepuff keeps trying to sneak in to visit Finch-Fletchley. Though you well know students aren't allowed out on their own now."

"No one else has tried to visit Miss Granger? Or Mr. Creevey?" Minerva is honestly surprised that Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were not constantly trying to visit Hermione. She had thought they were exceptionally close, and also had an exceptional disregard for the rules.

"I'm almost positive the Weasley twins have snuck in, but of course I can't prove it," Poppy says with a frown. "But no one else, no."

The pain in her chest is acute, and she stands abruptly. "I see. Well. I suppose I should be off. With Albus gone…There's too much to do."

"Minerva."

She pauses at the door, looking back at Poppy. "Yes?"

"It's all right to get attached to them, you know. Have favorites." Poppy looks meaningfully at Minerva. "Doesn't mean you're a bad teacher because you like some of them more than others. And it doesn't make you weak, or whatever silly thing you've convinced yourself of." She steps closer to the Deputy Headmistress. "I know you love them. And I know it hurts when you can't help them. Believe me, Minerva, I know. It won't kill you if they know it, too. It's all right if sometimes your walls aren't sky high."

For a moment, Minerva debates whether or not to go off on Poppy. She's never tolerated anyone but Rolanda seeing her softer side. But she's known Poppy Pomfrey for a great many years, and she thinks maybe it won't kill her to accept these words of advice.

"Just… take care of them," she finally says. "I promised their parents they would be safe here." She had gone to each and every home of the muggle-born children. She remembers each of their faces when she told them they had magic. The relief that there was a reason for all the odd things that happened around them. And now her guilt is overwhelming. She brought them here, to danger. Where they faced prejudice and danger because of their blood. Prejudice that they would never have to deal with in the muggle world. Well, not the same kind, at least.

"You know I will."

Minerva nods and briskly departs. She wants more than anything to go find Rolanda and curl up with her in bed with a good book and a cup of tea. But she is acting Headmistress now, and she must keep the school running. She must do what she can to keep the children safe. She almost laughs. Keep them safe. What can she do that Dumbledore couldn't?

Absolutely nothing.

"Professor McGonagall!"

She turns at her name, relief flooding her as she sees Rolanda, and not a student, jogging down the corridor after her.

"Madam Hooch." She inclines her chin in greeting. "Can I do anything for you?" She is fairly certain that Rolanda has been waiting for her. To see if she's 'all right.'

Rolanda rolls her eyes. "Oh, come off it, Min. All the kids are in class."

"You know I prefer—"

"Yes, yes, I know." Rolanda waves her hand dismissively. She catches sight of Minerva's face, drawn tight with her anxiety, and the sparkle fades from her eyes. "You've been to the Hospital Wing?"

"Yes."

"To visit Granger?"

"Yes."

Rolanda steps in close to her and takes Minerva's hand in hers ever so briefly so that there's no chance anyone would see (they don't care if their colleagues know, but Minerva would very much prefer it if her private life was not the subject of student gossip). "Did you give Poppy a hard time?"

"…..Possibly."

"She'll get it all sorted out, Min—"

"Merlin, I wish everyone would stop saying that!" She doesn't mean to explode, she really doesn't, but she's had about as much reassurance as she can take. "We don't know! We don't even know if this type of petrification can be reversed with mandrakes! We don't know—we don't know anything at all! And Albus is gone, and I'm all alone in this! We need to start facing the possibility that it's not all going to be all right! False hope will solve nothing."

Rolanda is quiet for a moment, her head tilted to the side. When she speaks, her voice is low and subdued. "You're not alone."

Mineva locks eyes with Rolanda, and they stand there in the corridor, which will start filling with children at any moment now.

"I know."

Rolanda looks as though she wants to draw Minerva into a hug, but they both hear the sounds of hundreds of footsteps approaching.

"Come to my quarters tonight. I'll have tea. And whisky."

"All right." Minerva nods curtly. "Madam Hooch."

"Professor McGonagall," Rolanda says, giving a lazy salute accompanied by a lopsided smile. Minerva's eyes linger for a few more moments before she plunges into the crowd of students. Their lives are entrusted to her, and she will give her own if it means keeping them safe. She feels as though she may be drowning in the responsibility, and there's too much to do and not enough hours in the day.

But perhaps she could take the time to have a cup of tea.


	5. Furious

I've actually had this sitting in my docs for months now. I forgot about it, but here have this.

* * *

She knows that the office will be empty when she arrives. She met Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the broken gargoyle. They had seemed surprised to see her, and she simply told them that she wished for a moment alone away from the celebrations and mourning. They nodded to her with far too much understanding for three teenagers, and headed toward Gryffinor tower.

When Minerva steps into the office, she is met with the cheers and congratulations of the portraits. She lets them have their celebration for a moment, but her own happiness has quickly been replaced by burning grief and anger.

She sees in her mind the faces of her students and friends who died that night. She sees Remus and Nymphadora, and thinks of the son they have left behind to be raised by his grandmother. She sees Lavender Brown, mauled and bleeding out on the stone floor. She sees Colin Creevey, who should not have been there at all. She sees James and Sirius and Peter Petigrew. She sees Severus Snape, Lily Evans. She sees Alastor Moody, and Amelia Bones, and Emmeline Vance, and Ted Tonks. She sees Vincent Crabbe, who may have been on the other side, but was still just a child. She sees Charity Burbage, Cedric Diggory, Rufus Scrimgeour.

She sees Fred Weasley, his mother clinging to his body, and there she loses her composure.

Heavily, she sinks into the chair behind Albus's desk, letting her head fall into her hands. Her shoulders shake with her sobs, and she ignores the reassurances of the portraits.

It's over now!

He can't hurt anyone anymore!

You've protected Hogwarts, you've won!

The words ring hollow in her ears. Just an hour earlier, she was full of elation, but now, she could only think of what this victory had cost. And she thinks of the man who left her so grievously unprepared for what needed to be done. She thinks of all the things she needed to know, things that perhaps could have helped save lives. She thinks of what Harry Potter was asked to do, all on his own with just the help of two other children.

Children.

She is stuck on that. She is, and always has been, a teacher first and foremost. Whatever her talents in dueling and transfiguration, they are nothing compared to her duties as a teacher. Her duties to protect her students. She never had children of her own, but she loves the students of Hogwarts as though she birthed them herself.

And her anger is too much to contain.

She lifts her head and looks coldly at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. He stares back at her, waiting.

"I suppose you're pleased with yourself." The venom in her voice surprises even her. "You've done it. You engineered a plan that took him down. It only cost the lives of a dozen children and scores of your friends, but what are a few deaths here and there in the grand scheme of things?" Her voice is shaking, and she thinks she may burst from her anger. "You sent Harry to die. You ….you cultivated him like a cow to be sent to slaughter, I realize that now, and with hardly any instruction! He is seventeen years old, and you put the weight of the world on his shoulders!" She is shouting now, standing with her hands pressed against the desk. "You told me nothing, _nothing_, and then asked me to trust you! And I did! I trusted you to protect him, to protect all of them! You led the battle here, Albus! A school, with children in the dormitories! What if we had not been able to evacuate them in time? Would you have been willing to sacrifice a few first years for your plan?" The other portraits try to interrupt her, try to defend Dumbledore, but she raises her voice over theirs.

"If you had shared with me what you knew, we could have been more prepared! We could have saved a few more!" Her grief is starting to strangle her, and it becomes harder to speak as her throat threatens to close on itself. "I have had to watch so many of my students suffer this year. Watched them be tortured and know that I could do nothing to stop it. I've watched them disappear, wondering if they're in hiding, if they're dead! I had to hear about the deaths of some of my oldest friends in the newspaper because it was too risky to communicate by normal means. I wanted to fight, but I stayed here to protect the children. But I wasn't enough. I couldn't….couldn't save them.

"I trusted you," she cried, her voice cracking. "I trusted you, and you left me so unprepared." Her righteous anger evaporates, and she can only sink back into the chair, overwhelmed by the anguish that floods inside her. "They're just children, Albus. And now they're dead."

"I don't expect you to ever forgive me, Minerva," the portrait says, and she cannot even muster up enough energy to glare at it. "I know that your priority has always been the children. That is why I never shared the full extent of my plans with you." She flinches, and she must admit that his lack of trust cuts her deeply. They had known each other since she was eleven years old, and had been colleagues and friends for over forty years. "You never wanted to leave Harry with his relatives. You were right that they would not treat him well, but I had no choice. If he was to stay safe, then it had to be them. Lily's death gave him that protection. And I knew that if I told you of what I planned, you would do everything you could to protect Harry from me." She can hear the smile in his voice, and his affection for her makes her want to vomit. "I had to make decisions, the good of the whole over the good of the few. I couldn't put that on you, as well. I couldn't share that burden with you. It would have destroyed you."

"I'm not weak," she snaps. "I can do what has to be done."

"I know, my dear," he says gently, and she feels the urge to set the portrait aflame. "You are truly the best Gryffindor has to offer, but you could never have lived with yourself if you had been complacent in the use of children for such things."

"You turned them into soldiers," she says. "You always knew it would come back to Hogwarts. You always knew it would play out like this."

"You give me far too much credit. I knew Tom Riddle would come back here. It was the only home he ever cared for. But I did not know so many children would be involved. I had expected more….time." He sighs, and she glances over, startled to see that the portrait is crying. "I take the full blame and responsibility for my mistakes. Even had I lived, I could never have made up for them. And I will not try to justify them to you, for I cannot. Perhaps there were other ways, but not that I could see."

"I'm so tired of death, Albus."

"I know, Minerva. You've been so strong for so long. Rest now."

"I can't," she says, shaking her head. "There's so much to do. Clean up to oversee….funerals…new teachers to…to hire." She thinks of her dead colleagues and passes a hand over her face. She gives a brittle laugh. "I don't even know if my quarters survived. I have parents to contact. Oh God. Colin Creevey's parents are muggles. How do I…how am I supposed to…to tell them? And Lavender Brown. Who will tell Andromeda that…that her daughter…killed by her sister…." She trails off, and none of the portraits offer her suggestions.

"You don't have to do all of that alone," Albus finally says. "There are ministry officials, and members of the Order who can help you. Don't try to do everything yourself."

"They're all celebrating. Well, as much as they can," she amends. "But these families need to know…deserve to know as soon as I….but I'm so tired." She's still so very angry with him, and suspects that she always will be, but right now he is all she has. Rolanda is busy helping make sure the castle is structurally sound, and Pomona and Poppy and Filius are overseeing organization of sleeping arrangements and the treatment of the injured. And she is headmistress now, after all. It falls to her.

"Minerva, you are allowed to take the time to compose yourself."

"I dueled him," she says suddenly. "V-voldemort himself. Not alone, but still. I was so sure he would kill me, but that feels like nothing compared to this task." Shaking her head, she leans back on the chair. "Was rebuilding so hard last time?"

"Last time, you were sixteen years younger," Albus reminds her. "But always so practical. While everyone else was celebrating, you were the one who insisted that we take precautions. You will get through this, my dear. I daresay you'll turn this school into something spectacular. Use this to make all those changes you kept urging me to make. Hire teachers because of their love for teaching, not for their strategic value. Foster interhouse friendship. It does not all have to be done tonight. You will be fine, Minerva. I know this because I know you. You will grieve, and you will mourn, and you will most likely never forgive me, but you will pull yourself together, and you will do what you always do-" And he smiles at her, his eyes twinkling in a way that compounds her grief. "-you will fix my mess."

"It's a rather large mess," Minerva sniffs, hating that even in her anger, she needs his support.

"Let people help you." He hesitates before continuing. "Is Rolanda…?"

"Alive. Broken arm, but Poppy fixed it up right away," she tells him, turning cold again. As if he had any right to ask about survivors. "I can't go over casualties with you. If you want to know, ask some of the other portraits."

"I only asked because I know that she is someone you will accept help from."

Minerva wants to growl at him, but she only rests her head on the cool wood of the desk. There is so much to do, and she does not know where to start. She knows the students see her as someone who always has it together, who always knows what to do, but she feels so lost.

"Min?"

She looks up to see Rolanda standing on the doorway. The older woman is covered in dust, and her arm is still in a sling, but she's gloriously, blessedly, alive.

"I've been looking for you. People are wondering what to do next, and they…well…" She looks guilty for a moment. "They want you to make decisions. I know you wanted to be alone, if you came up here, but…Kingsley is having trouble keeping order, and we all know how good you are at…." She sighs. "I'm sorry Min, I know you've got enough to worry about already-" Rolanda breaks off as Minerva rises and pulls her into a fierce hug. After just a moment of hesitation, Rolanda returns the embrace. "If you want me to say I couldn't find you, then I will-"

Minerva kisses her to shut her up, and Rolanda is understandably surprised. They are not prone to displays of affection. Minerva is barely prone to affection at all.

"I almost lost you tonight," she says when they break apart, cupping Rolanda's face in her hands.

"Me? You were the one who decided it would be fun to duel You-Know—okay fine, Voldemort." Rolanda's voice is tired, but Minerva can detect traces of her usual light-heartedness.

"My Gryffindor foolishness," Minerva says, leaning her forehead to Rolanda's. "I'll need your help, Ro."

"What can I do?"

"Just…be there."

"I think I can definitely manage that."

"Make her eat something!" one of the portraits pipes up. Minerva does not turn to see which one, and soon they are bombarded with suggestions on how Rolanda can assist her (and only a few of them were lewd). Rolling her eyes, and feeling much lighter than when she had entered the office, Minerva allows Rolanda to take her back down to the great hall.

Minerva decides she won't burn Albus's portrait after all.


End file.
